


Scheduling Error

by GloriaMundi



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's well past time Carlos went back to Desert Bluffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scheduling Error

Carlos knows he's overdue for a trip to Desert Bluffs, but he still falters when Old Woman Josie beckons to him from the corner of Ouroboros Street.

_the angels say it's time to go_

Right, says Carlos.I'll just—

_the angels **say it's time to go**!_

He has a ... is it a date? Cecil called it a date— an _appointment_ with Cecil this afternoon. Heading for the parking lot out back of the lab, Carlos fumbles for his phone. He's pretty sure Cecil is at work right now, which makes it easier. He really doesn't want to start explaining to Cecil that for all his training, despite the Strexcorp telecoils nestled in his ears, he's still having trouble resisting Night Vale.

He leaves a voicemail. Knowing Cecil, he'll broadcast it all over town, so Carlos keeps it brief and impersonal. _Cecil, something has come up._ He flicks a glance at Old Woman Josie, who has followed him to the parking lot and is peering at him intently. _I have to head out to the Science Monitoring Station for a bit. I'll call you when I'm back._

Carlos pulls out of the parking lot onto Main Street, turns the radio on. Cecil's voice fills the car. He's talking about hooded figures gathering in the dog park, which does not exist. Carlos, catching his reflection in the rear view mirror as he signals a right, notes that he is smiling fondly.

It's well past time he went to Desert Bluffs.

He heads north on 800, listening to Cecil reading out the community calendar. _Tuesday Buddy Holly returns to Dark Owl Records. There will be no performance or book signing and no one will see him._ Hey, that does sound kind of cool. Maybe he and Cecil—

"I'm a scientist, damn it!" yells Carlos, punching the wheel.

... _Thursday is Recycling Pick-up day. Teeth should be gently placed in a wooden box_ ...

Red Mesa looms ahead of him, its crest crowned with a bristle of antennae. He wonders if they're monitoring _him_ now. If they were listening last night when...

"I am a scientist," he reminds himself, more calmly. "My job is to study the inhabitants, geography and socio-political structure of Night Vale."

On the radio, Cecil's opinions concerning library renovations are punctuated with static. Soon enough, his voice fades out, and is replaced by the lighter tones of Kevin.

... _it's a fine clear Wednesday here in beautiful Desert Bluffs. The City Council, in an eventful town meeting, has revealed that additional measures will be taken to protect our community in the event of further meteorological interference. Speaking on behalf of the Council, Mayor Pablo Mitchell_ ... 

Carlos has missed Wednesdays.

He parks on Main Street, just up from Strex Books ("We read you!"). He really misses books, though it's not like he can take any back with him. He has a few minutes before his appointment, so he checks out the latest titles in the window. A new edition of _The Dark God's Darlings_ ; _Zero dB_ ; _The Sleep Room_ ; _When Real Things Happen to Imaginary People_ ; _A Crown of Meat_ ; _Music in the Detention Camps of_ —

"Doctor Carlos! How nice it is to see you back in Desert Bluffs again!"

Carlos takes a moment to check his smile in the glass before he turns. "Grandmother Josephine! I hope you're well."

She _looks_ well, though that might be his own cognitive bias: Carlos has become accustomed to the pale, haunted folk of Night Vale. Yep, it's well past time he came back to Desert Bluffs.

"I'm good," says Grandmother Josephine. "But you're not looking so great, Doctor. You really should visit more. How's your young, ah, man?" she adds, with a coy smile.

Cecil, with his eyes and his blindness, his light heart and his darkness, his arms and his ... other arms. "It's complicated," says Carlos, with a sigh.

"Of course it is." Grandmother Josephine nods sagely. "Have you, ah, become—"

"I'd rather not say, ma'am," interrupts Carlos, horribly aware that he's blushing. It's not like Cecil is in a state to give informed consent, after all, though sometimes Carlos finds it hard to remember why that might be. 

"Did you tell him you were coming here?" asks Grandmother Josephine. No, wait: there's a steely look in her eyes; abruptly, she's no longer a mildly loopy old woman, but his handler, and Carlos stands up straighter as he tells her that Cecil has no idea where he, Carlos, is, or the nature of Carlos' investigations, or the extreme improbability of Cecil's own situation.

"Well, of course he doesn't, dear," says Lt. Col. Josephine Scryer briskly. "They've made quite sure of that. Now, shall we?"

The debriefing is more of a chat over coffee and cake. The subsequent realignment takes longer than it did last time (when _was_ that?). Molly, the tech, frowns at Carlos' EEG. Carlos wants to ask what she's thinking - he's a scientist, damn it, and that's his _brain_ she's tinkering with - but instead he finds himself thinking about Cecil. Thinking quite _heatedly_ about Cecil, and his arms, and his ... other arms. Thinking about— Darn it, he's blushing again.

Molly hums, pleased, and nudges a slider bar on the console. "You just take it easy for a little while, honey," she says, straightening up. "Give the new coils a chance to calibrate. I need to catch the Colonel before she goes off-duty." 

Before she leaves she cues up the CD. It's Queen's _Greatest Hits_ , as usual. The telecoils in Carlos' ear canals writhe and vibrate: they're larger than the last pair, and not as comfortable. Also, he's totally over Queen. He's starting to think he might prefer Cecil's weird-ass music.

As the final notes of Bohemian Rhapsody fade away, Carlos realises that he can hear Molly and Lt. Col. Scryer in the hallway. 

"... should be countering the subliminals!" Molly sounds agitated.

Carlos is certain he shouldn't be hearing this. Maybe the new coils don't block out so much sound? Maybe his hearing's just gotten more sensitive, after weeks ( _has_ it been weeks?) of straining to listen to Night Vale conversations over the muted roar of the telecoils.

"We need to increase the ambient ..." Lt Col Scryer begins: then Freddie Mercury starts singing about princes of the universe, and Carlos can't hear the voices any more. He wishes he dared to reach over and turn down the CD player. Freddie Mercury is making his ears hurt.

By the time Carlos stumbles out into the late afternoon sunshine, he's beginning to experience moments of clarity. As usual, they're accompanied by a vicious unilateral headache.

"Come and have some mint tea, dear," says Grandmother Josephine kindly.

It's good to sit down on the shady porch of the Research and Monitoring Station. Carlos sips his tea and sighs. He opens his mouth to ask if the angels have spoken to Grandmother Josephine (a.k.a. Lt. Col. Scryer) recently, but some base impulse of cunning makes him bite back the question.

"It's so peaceful here," he says instead.

"Isn't it?" says Grandmother Josephine. "I was talking to Lawrence Levine, out on the edge of town. _He_ tells me that we're clearer here than anywhere else in the whole continental US of A! Isn't that marvellous?"

"It certainly is," says Carlos. He glances up at the sky, and sets down his empty tea cup. "It's nearly sunset. I should head back."

"Of course, dear. Now mind you don't forget to give your young man my regards!" says Grandmother Josephine.

"Of course," says Carlos warmly, fiddling with his car keys. 

"And Doctor Carlos?" The steel is back in her voice. "Don't lose sight of your mission. Don't allow yourself to become," her voice drops, " _compromised_."

"No, ma'am," says Carlos, and makes his escape.

Driving back down 800, watching the sky darken and the red warning lights flicker atop the broadcast antennae, he wonders how long he'll have been away. (Clocks in Night Vale don't keep time. Carlos suspects they might _eat_ time.) Wonders if Old Woman Josie will be lurking at the entrance to the parking lot, making sure it's Carlos who has returned. Wonders where, exactly, the border lies between Night Vale and the rest of the world. When his phone buzzes with the sound of a waiting voicemail (it's Cecil, it's only ever Cecil) Carlos knows he's crossed that border.

The lights that are not stars are moving slowly overhead. The telecoils begin to hum. He does not listen to the radio. He winds the window down and listens to the voice of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Hurrah for _Welcome to Night Vale_ battering down my writer-block!
> 
> Thanks to _Good Omens_ for Queen's Greatest Hits, _The Men Who Stare at Goats_ for psychological warfare techniques, and K for beta.


End file.
